


Daydreams

by justsomespam



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (that one was a compulsory tag), Accidental Neglect, Angst, Blindness, Dreamon, Hallucinations, Help, Starvation, Whump, but now i dont know what to tag, lol ran outta time for tags, no beta we die like my braincells at 1am, okay im back after six hours of sleep, pls read TW's, why aren't these tags?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justsomespam/pseuds/justsomespam
Summary: Dream was starving, not stupid. He knew what the effects of starvation were. That didn't make it any less frightening when the first hallucination appeared.Or, I panic because I have 3 hours to write at least 1500 words and I usually type at the speed of two words per minute
Comments: 8
Kudos: 94
Collections: dream-centric discord comp.





	Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> TW// self-ham, starvation, hallucinating, blindness, accidental neglect, mildly graphic descriptions of gore, missing plot, severely obvious lack of editing
> 
> Round One: Blind & Broken Dream

Tommy didn't mean to blow off Dream. Okay, well, he didn't mean to blow off Dream for that long.

When Tommy had visited Dream in the prison he told him he'd come back in two days. But, where was the fun in that? Tommy figured he'd make Dream wait another day or two, make him antsy. Dream was a big man, he could handle a joke.

Then one day turned into two. And two into four. Tommy wouldn't be lying if he said he felt bad that he got distracted. He knew how terrible isolation was, and Dream didn't even get the luxury of fresh air and the outdoors to pass the time. Tommy needed a way to make it up to Dream without seeming too guilty. (He still had some pride after all.) He'd figure it out.

//

A week ago Dream was fine. He had four and a half books filled out, a promise of another visit the next day, and a million thoughts to occupy himself with. 

A week ago, the flower in the pot hadn’t wilted, a clock was still in its place on the wall, and Dream had the taste of baked potato on his tongue. 

But that was a week ago. 

Now, his ~~cell~~ room was trashed. The walls were bare and the room was nearly empty. All that was in it was one dirty, skinny boy, leaning against a heavy metal cauldron and a puddle in the corner. 

Six days ago, Dream didn’t think Tommy was a liar (not about this anyway). Five days ago he was forced to reckon with the truth. In a fit of something akin to rage, he had thrown Tommy’s books into the lava. When that didn’t release enough of his frustration, he threw the rest of the blank books into the fire. The lectern and the chest followed shortly after. 

Three days ago, Dream went crazy. After forty-plus hours of nothing but his own head and the ticking of a clock, something had to change. With the thought “what’s the worst that could happen” at the forefront of his mind, Dream relinquished his power to his Dreamon. 

It was odd how the switching of power worked. Dream was in possession of Dreamon for almost as long as the server had existed but most information about it remained a mystery to him. At some point, Dreamon figured out how to forcefully take control of Dream, leaving the host in what he called a “Dreamstate”. When he was in the Dreamstate, it was like time froze until he was allowed to wake up. As events passed, he would get vague impressions, but never any concrete memories. 

Dream had to rely on Dreamon to leave clues and notes detailing exactly what happened while Dream had been dormant. Strangely enough, it never occurred to Dream that Dreamon might be lying, or he should try to tell anybody about Dreamon. It just went as an unspoken rule, Dreamon would let Dream know everything that happened and Dream wouldn’t try to reveal Dreamon. 

The thing was, Dreamon wasn’t all bad. It was a symbiont of sorts. (Dream still didn’t like it though.) Dreamon gained a host body and in return, Dream’s body was enhanced. It was like he constantly had gapple effects on top of his admin status, it made him nearly unstoppable. 

Dream hated not being the one in control. It was just the fact that Dreamon had priorities that clashed horribly with Dream’s, and it usually managed to mess his life up whenever it took control. In fact, their clashing priorities was what had landed them here in the first place.

Rock bottom. There was no point in gatekeeping anymore, the only possible change was change for the better. 

//

Tommy was brilliant. He was the biggest man of all men. He knew exactly what to do ~~to make Dream like him again~~.

//

When Dream awoke, the room was even emptier than before. His arms were oddly achy as well. When he glanced down curiously, he spotted the reason why. 

_**B rok E f OOd** _

Was etched into his arms. Angry pink strips were left behind from when something, likely his own fingernails, were scratched down his limbs. 

Underneath the scratches, there were faint bruises, and his knuckles were bleeding. After further inspection of the room, he found the automatic food dispenser was, in fact, broken, and had knuckle sized dents in the metal. 

“Huh.” Dream had been wrong. His situation could get worse. 

//

Aww yeah. It had taken nearly a month but Tommy had done it. He had convinced the _entire_ server to visit Dream in his cell. All at once. Sure, it took a while, ~~and Dream was probably mad at him,~~ but he didn’t care. 

~~It’s not like he owed the guy anything.~~

Tommy was so cool. 

//

Dream was exhausted. He didn't have a clock anymore so he couldn't tell for sure how quickly or slowly time passed. It had been at least a week since the food dispenser had been broken if his internal clock could be trusted. 

He was starving to death. Dream tried resetting his hunger by swimming in lava but something must be wrong because he never felt any relief. After two painful respawns, Dream stopped trying.

Dream was starving, not stupid. He knew what the effects of privation were. That didn't make it any less frightening when the first hallucination appeared.

He was dozing against a wall when the sound of shifting pistons woke him up. Dream was slow, much slower than normal to look up at his visitor. He was too tired to stand at that point, so he did his best to survey the situation from his position sitting on the floor.

He almost yelped when his hazy vision came in contact with none other than TommyInnit. The teen, who had been standing stoically in front of Dream, grinned at the eye contact.

"Well _hey_ there Big D!" Tommy stood tall, with his hands on his hips. He didn't have any armour on and his stance indicated a lack of severe injuries. Dream slowly took in these details, his thoughts were feeling as uncoordinated as his limbs. 

  
Tommy laughed out loud, interrupting Dreams attempt to collect his thoughts. "Of course I'm not injured. Why would I be injured?" 

  
Did Dream say that out loud? He didn't realize he was talking. Why was Tommy laughing? Wait- Didn't Tommy ask him a question? What did Tommy ask him?

  
Tommy's boisterous laughing sobered up pretty quickly. "I asked why you would think I would be injured. It's not like anybody's fighting now that you're in jail." The teen narrowed his eyes at the older. "You know you're the cause of all the conflict. Everybody is happier with you gone."

  
Dream hadn't thought about that before. He-

  
"Where are my books, green boy?" Tommy asked from the other side of the room. When had he walked over there?

  
Dream stiffened when he remembered _he threw Tommy's books in the lava._ He hadn’t meant-

  
"You threw my books into the lava?" Tommy hissed from behind Dreams ear. The edge the boy adopted to tone was a far cry from the casual one he had moments before. He was crouched on Dreams right side, opposite of where he was before. "I ask one thing of you, _one thing_ , and you still can't do it?"

This wasn't good, that wasn't good at all. Dream _needs_ Tommy to forgive him, he needs Tommy to like him.

  
_I'm sorry Tommy, I'm sorry._ Dream begged forgiveness with his eyes, his neck twisted as far as it could in an attempt to look Tommy in the eyes. 

  
Tommy straightened with a scoff. “If that was the truth, you would have my books. You really are worthless.” He looked down at Dream disdainfully. 

  
Dream’s cheek stung without warning. Tommy had slapped him. “Nobody visited you, nobody wants you. You’re dying alone in a prison cell. And it’s _all_. _Your_. _Fault_.”

  
Dream peered blearily at the blond teenager. His head was filled with cotton that made it hard to process Tommy's words. 

  
The more Dream tried to concentrate, the harder it was to puzzle out his words. Suddenly, Dream blinked in wonder when Tommy’s form morphed into Sapnap’s and George’s. 

  
They were talking quietly amongst themselves as Dream gaped. Both Sapnap and George were unharmed and unarmed, much like Tommy. 

  
Unlike Tommy, they didn’t seem to notice Dream right away. He drank in their features eagerly, he hadn’t really had a chance to spend any time with them since before the first war. 

  
Dreamon had forcefully taken over almost ninety percent of the time since the first war. During the short period's Dream was in control, he was too busy trying to catch up with current events to do anything leisurely like spending time with friends. Except, well, were George and Sapnap even his friends anymore? Why hadn’t they visited? Dream knew something had happened to their dynamic recently but Dreamon hadn’t provided any details. 

  
On that note, the duo finally seemed to notice Dream. “George, look! It’s that filthy traitor.” Sapnap crowed. 

  
George levelled an unimpressed look at Dream. “So it is. Got anything to say for yourself, _Dream_?”

  
Dream winced internally at the sound of his name. It was nothing like the overly dramatic pout or playful drawl he was used to. It was flat and accusatory and more painful than his bloodied knuckles. 

  
“I- I” Dream tried croaking. He was probably nearing two days without water, and 4 without talking.

  
George frowned before facing Sapnap. "Look at how pathetic that is, isn't he pathetic?" Sapnap nodded in agreement. "Yeah, pretty pathetic."

  
_Please, I'm sorry. Please forgive me._ Dream stared up at his ~~former~~ friends, willing them to understand him. It finally seemed like something was on his side, as George and Sapnap both responded. Unfortunately, it was in the form of dismissive scoffs and disbelieving laughs.

  
"Hey, hey George, he thinks 'sorry' means something. That saying 'please' will get him what he wants." Sapnap elbowed George in the side and pointed like Dream was the most hilarious thing he had seen in a while. 

  
"Pretty amusing," George agreed. "I bet the others could use a good laugh."

  
And now the cell was crowded with figures. Voices filled up the previously quiet space. Dream couldn't see Sapnap or George anymore. He caught glimpses of brown hair, of sleeved arms, of dark clothes, but nothing substantial. Disorienting chatter and laughter reached his ears through layers of cotton.

  
Dream caught snatches of cruel comments and spiteful chuckles through his haze.

  
"Not so Godly now, huh."

  
"I bet he just trying to manipulate us again."

  
"He's such an idiot. Begging for forgiveness? It's not like he gave any of us mercy."

  
Dream would've cried if he weren't so dehydrated. As it was, Dream's emaciated form started shaking in silent sobs. The laughter only got louder. Using his trembling hands to cover his ears offer no solace from the _noise_ , the voices only rebounded and echoed in his head.

  
Dream gasped when his vision suddenly cleared. The cacophony of sound was muted to a distant roar as Dream watched his friends, his family ostracize him. They pointed, they whispered behind cupped hands, they _stared_ like he was an exhibit in a zoo. There was an unpleasant burning sensation behind Dream's eyes as the people he _loved_ proclaimed their hate.

  
No, no, _no_. This couldn't be real. There was something wrong with his eyes, he needed to fix his eyes. As shaky hands scratched at tired eyes, burning was replaced by stinging. The hands raked more frantically, and blood replaced mocking figures. This was good. This was great. They weren't there anymore, they weren't real. This wasn’t the truth. 

  
Dream was fine, just like before. Dream was fine. Dream was _fine_.

//

  
As the boy released one more shuddering breath, it occurred to him that his situation had not contradicted every previous statement of his. The flower had never wilted, it had burned before it's time. It turned out he was just like the flower in that way, pushed prematurely into deterioration. Maybe, if the boy was like the flower in one way, he was like the flower in others. Maybe, that meant just like the flower, the boy was beautiful.

  
//

  
This was so POGGERS! Tommy was definitely the Biggest Man around, who else could’ve managed to gather the _entire_ server to visit the prison? No one that's who!

  
It had taken a while for everybody to make it through the screening, and Tommy was sure Sam hated him for bringing everybody at once, but they were finally ready. 

  
"Eyy, Sam, are you sure you hit the right button. I thought you said this would only take a coupla seconds." Tommy jeered, gesturing to the wall of lava.

  
Sam gave Tommy a deadpan look. "Face forward Tommy. You're lucky I even allowed this many people in the prison at once. Don't misbehave."

  
Tommy sighed and turned back around. 

  
The silence lasted all of ten seconds.

  
"How's the green man doing anyways? You check up on him recently?" Tommy asked nonchalantly, internally curious if Dream had missed him at all. Tommy didn't turn around to address Sam, wary of being told off again.

  
The warden was silent and had Tommy been facing him, he would've seen a quiet look of concern on his face. Thankfully, Sam was saved by the lava finally receding.

  
"Yo Dream! How are you, big man? I brought some friends!" Tommy call went unanswered, but that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the bare walls and limp form.

  
"He must be sleeping," somebody commented.

"Ha, it's clear he doesn't care about us," another voice replied.

  
Tommy frowned at the insult but didn't refute it. 

  
"You know the rules, the prison isn't responsible for anything that might happen, don't fall off the platform, I'll retract it once you're all over." Sam's voice droned from behind them and after a little shuffling, everybody managed to fit on the moving bridge.

  
The nervous anticipation and excitement from the crowd slowly turned to dread the nearer they got to the cell. Something was very, very amiss.

  
About halfway across the moat, somebody cried out with shock. There was a scream, and an appalled gasp, and by the time the bridge had reached the cell, everybody knew something was _wrong_.

  
Tommy was immediately pushed onto the bridge to be taken back, along with a number of the younger server members, but he caught a glimpse of Dream before the elders surrounded the admin's body. 

  
Deep gouges ran down his deathly pale face. His cheekbones were more prominent than they were a month ago. Parts of his hair and clothes were stained a deep russet brown that was guaranteed to have once been a bright, blood red. 

His eyes, his eyes were the worst. They were wide open, but his iris's couldn't be seen. Old, dried, blood coated the entirety of both eyes, and rivulets of the stuff dripped from both sides. They looked like tears.

  
A cry from Sapnap broke him out of his horrified stare. 

  
"He's smiling, _why is he smiling_." 

  
Tommy threw up.

**Author's Note:**

> (Post Deadline Notes) - mostly just me oversharing, it's not important
> 
> -ambiguous ending ftw. did he die? is he just comatose? you can decide!  
> -honestly, i'm so glad dream was crazy for most of the time bc the super ooc actions and sporadic writing and lack of knowledge about the smp lore can all be blamed on an unstable narrator.  
> -dialogue, what's dialogue?  
> -i tried to keep everybody from swearing, but it's weird trying to write Tommy without at least a little profanity. i dunno, excessive use of exclamation marks just doesn't give off the same vibe.  
> -i leaned way too heavily on dreamon (btw, dream, dreamon, and dreamstate?? feel free to yell at me bc i can't name things) bc it was supposed to play into story but i ran outta time and ended up cutting literally half the story.  
> -first published work, woohoo! i'm a little sad it was so rushed, and i'm not really proud of it, but who knows. i might end up revamping it/actually taking time to edit later.  
> -sure, Dream's actions were completely irrational and unrealistic but he was a starving man, you gotta believe me, it's because he was starving, not any fault of the authors, no no  
> -i restarted this over half a dozen times, and i really think it shows.  
> -judges, i'm so sorry, i actually had something planned that would fit with the theme but then the deadline happened and i had to speedrun the last 2000 words and it kinda got lost in an effort to actually finish on time. i mean, his mind is kinda broken?? and he would've actually been blind if he had been conscious when the others found him... blind to sanity?? oh well, if you had to crawl though the a/n's to find some poor explanation of how this correlates to the theme, then does it really correlate to the theme?  
> -the plot changed a lot while writing. originally, dream was supposed to be confirmed dead, and came back as a ghost ('cause you can pry ghost-dre out of my cold, dead hands) and that's where the main "broken" theme came in. starvation was never meant to be the main focus, it probably never would've been mentioned, or would be a very minor plot point if it was.  
> -i so failed at this. halfway though, i was running out of time so i just googled 'effects of starvation' and ran with whatever scraps WebMD and Wikipedia gave me. probably not accurate and definitely not well portrayed but whatever  
> -successful usage of chekhov's gun, WOOOOOOOOO  
> -this doesn't really have a playlist, but I thought I'd mention my brain was screaming the chorus of Ra Ra Rasputin the entire second half except the more chaotic the writing, the louder, and the closer the end, the faster it got
> 
> TL;DR as a severely pedantic perfectionist, this hurt to write.


End file.
